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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25869226">why do you kiss me like you've never tasted me before?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckhams/pseuds/beckhams'>beckhams</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>football. — ideas. [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Football RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, POV Second Person, Unrequited Love, or is it 👀</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:20:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,457</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25869226</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckhams/pseuds/beckhams</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>it started with sandy skin and shared kits and drool covered drink bottles. it started with borrowing chewed up pens and sharing lunches. it started with whispering about the pretty girls in their town and the annoying boys, it started at the beginning.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>David Beckham/Gary Neville</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>football. — ideas. [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733986</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>why do you kiss me like you've never tasted me before?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>becks is so annoying but he's my babie and if I see anyone say Anything negative about him I will literally throw hands &lt;3</p><p>sir, that's my emotional support retired footballer don't be mean to him &gt;:(((</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>it started with sandy skin and shared kits and drool covered drink bottles. it started with borrowing chewed up pens and sharing lunches. it started with whispering about the pretty girls in their town and the annoying boys, it started at the beginning. </p><p> </p><p>his hands are cold, pressing against the fabric of your jacket, tugging you along, smile on his face and his cheeks are pink and blotchy from the cold. </p><p> </p><p>and this is where it started, him picking you for a round of football, and he looks over every boy in your academy year that have lined up, he looks you in the eyes and calls your name. </p><p> </p><p>"gary." he says, his voice high and loud. "I'll take gary."</p><p> </p><p>everyone looks over to you, and you nod, before he's coming over and taking your hand, pulling you along. his hands are freezing, and the chill seeps down into your skin. </p><p> </p><p>the coach nods, not knowing yet what a duo you would become but, sure, you didn't either, all you knew is the popular pretty boy picked you to be on his team. </p><p> </p><p>and maybe that's not even where it started, maybe it started from your glances, from your hands grazing against his from passing a not from one of your mates, maybe it started when you smiled at him on the first day and he smiled back at you. </p><p> </p><p>maybe that wasn't even the beginning either, maybe it was your first crush, a skinny blonde boy that had a sharp accent, a boy from school in your class, but you wouldn't dare tell any of your friends that, the fear of rejection built into you. maybe that crush, knocked down the first domino. </p><p> </p><p>you have a type: mouthy, bratty, blonde boys that have pretty smiles and long legs and sweet words, nice boys that behave but have a wicked look in their eyes. boys that look like the sun, boys that are bright and that look like they would fit better in a cheerleading uniform, boys built with nails and bones but still have so much warmth to them. </p><p> </p><p>boys that are <em>so</em> out of your league. you like boys that will never like you back, the safe security of never having to deal with the heartbreak of if the relationship never works out. </p><p> </p><p>becks ticks every box. maybe that's what started it. maybe his pretty smiles and styled hair started it, maybe it was your crooked teeth and strong frown. </p><p> </p><p>who knows what started it, and maybe you don't even care, but the start of you and david, <em>gaz and becks</em>, was him, picking you out of a line of boys and saying he wanted you. </p><p> </p><p>and when you play, it's like you were made for each other. but you spend most of the time staring at him, feet busy but eyes wide. </p><p> </p><p>when the match is over, and the second set of teams go on to play their match, he sits next to you on the bleachers and he pats your shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>"good game, gaz."</p><p> </p><p>"you too." and you mean it, he's just being kind but you <em>mean</em> it. and you will mean it until he understands it. </p><p> </p><p>he let's out a brief laugh, almost like he doesn't believe you, but he nods. he takes a sip of a red bottle before handing it to you, and you take a chug and hand it back. </p><p> </p><p>"you're not going to wipe it?" a guy asks, you don't even know who he is (<em>must be new?</em>). "not even take off the lid?" </p><p> </p><p>david laughs before responding, "well neither of us are sick, it's fine."</p><p> </p><p>"well you're not even family?" </p><p> </p><p>and you don't even understand why the guy <em>cares</em> but david is patient where you aren't, so he keeps explaining. </p><p> </p><p>"we might as well be." he nods over at you, before going back to the guy. "we've grown up together. if you wanted a drink, I'd let you have it without wiping."</p><p> </p><p>"not that odd, mate, get over it." you finally say, the guy gives up and runs off to another group, whispering loud enough for you to hear.</p><p> </p><p>and that's what starts it, drool covered drinks bottles and becks laughing in your ear. </p><p> </p><p>•<strong>┊</strong>•</p><p> </p><p>it continues with shared beds, matching shirts, shared vodka drinks. it continues with bowls of popcorn and deflated footballs, it continues with shared spit and kisses that "don't count" because you're both drunk. </p><p> </p><p>it continues because you let it. </p><p> </p><p>he has a bruise on his shoulder. it's gone yellow, no longer hurting to touch. you press down on it. he doesn't complain, he never does anymore. almost like he's given up trying to stop you. </p><p> </p><p>and maybe it continues because he hooks his leg over your waist when you are sharing a bed with him, his hot breath against your neck, and maybe it continues because he does a light peck with a slurred '<em>goodnight</em>'. </p><p> </p><p>maybe that's what gets you. </p><p> </p><p>or its the way he sits with you, instead of all the other boys that are just <em>begging</em> to have david beckham at their table. you've not made it yet, but he's still a burning bright star in the academy.</p><p> </p><p>maybe it's the way that he always goes to you during pair training, always turns to you without a shadow of a doubt, always expects you to take his hand. and you do, always, because it's not like you have anyone else and even if you did, you'd chose him over them. </p><p> </p><p>maybe it's the way he hands himself to you, giving you all you need to know, letting you bend and break him, letting you watch him shatter. maybe it the way he let's you do whatever you want to him. </p><p> </p><p>or it could be the way that you'd let him do the same thing. </p><p> </p><p>his warmth takes over you, and you know in the back of your head that eventually you will be cold and he will leave, and so you grasp onto him and hold him and love him, so when he leaves you can say you tried. </p><p> </p><p>his hands are nimble, bone and skin, and you watch as they tap away on the plastic covering of the table, you watch the pale fingers and the joints and when you reach over to put your hand on his, he doesn't pull away. </p><p> </p><p>it continues because <em>he</em> let's it. </p><p> </p><p>you have no power at all, he's only given you the delusion of having power, and maybe that's enough. </p><p> </p><p>•<strong>┊</strong>•</p><p> </p><p>it ends with disagreements and yelling, it ends with him moving out (<em>with him moving country</em>), it ends with drink bottles thrown and plates smashed, it ends with half of your closet being gone and your house feeling cold. </p><p> </p><p>it ends because he left.</p><p> </p><p>his goodbye is kisses that are more tears than it is lips and his hands shake when they tangle with your's and you want to say that it's okay, but it's not. </p><p> </p><p>when you see him in pure madrid white, it burns your eyes, but maybe that's the tears you have to blink away. </p><p> </p><p>and you knew this would happen, he's been risking the idea for years, running along the line of greatness and surely another team would want him, would pay the price for him. </p><p> </p><p><em>brilliant, breathtaking, beckham</em>. you've head that line a million times, it might as well be tattooed onto you, it might as well be his slogan. and maybe it makes sense, because becks <em>does</em> take your breath away, and he is brilliant.</p><p> </p><p>but he's <em>becks</em>. your <em>becks.</em></p><p> </p><p>the becks that had sandy skin, and shared kits and drool covered drink bottles. the becks you borrowed chewed up pens from and shared lunches with. </p><p> </p><p>the becks that you shared a bed with, had matching shirts with, shared vodka drinks with, bowls of popcorn and deflated footballs. the becks that you shared endless messy, spit filled kisses with.</p><p> </p><p>and now he's gone, and you knew it would happen, and yet when you stand in his empty room, you almost expect to hear him calling your name from the kitchen to ask what you want for dinner.</p><p> </p><p>you almost expect to see him at training with overly gelled up hair and a crooked smile and long legs, but when you show up all you get is a sympathetic look from fergy and a half-assed comfort hug from giggs. </p><p> </p><p>his jersey is still in his bedroom closet. <strong>BEKCHAM #7</strong>. and you run your finger over the letters, branding them into your skin, it still smells like him, his cologne that he always smells of, no matter how much he scrubs, almost like it's stuck under his skin. he smells of vanilla and lavender. </p><p> </p><p>it ends because he left. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>me, continuously using gary as a way to express my thirst for David beckham: OH the bitches on ao3 are gonna love this :)))</p><p>ALSO I know it seems like I don't care about Gary but he is my emotional support pundit and I LOVE HIM. I maybe have a lil bit of a draft for a gary-centric fic 👉👈 but shhhh, no promises 😏</p><p>n yes, i have had to explain to someone why I share a bottle with my friends. they are my friends AND I love them and want them to be hydrated &lt;3</p><p>okie goodnight love u all thank u for reading 💕💕💕</p></blockquote></div></div>
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